how you lose tiny pieces of yourself
first your voice —
nothing you have to say is ever that important
next your appeal —
you look nothing like the porn chicks he prefers
then your dignity takes a walk
followed by your self-respect —

and then you awaken one day with amnesia
you don’t know who the hell you are
nor why you are in this shitty marriage —
you are alone, friendless and jobless
in a dark hole with no help in sight

Marriage should come with warning signs
bells and whistles and quick exit doors —
or at the very least, a coffin in the bedroom
to practice death upon

As a child, I drowned fireflies
in the river because I envisioned
them setting ablaze the forest like arsonists
I thought if I strained my ears
I could hear them sizzle like bacon on a grill
as they flopped about in the water
But they kicked their legs, belly-up
in the cascades of currents; leaves
their only life rafts, pulled them further downstream
their beacons flashed a silent SOS
When their glow softened to dull ochre
I gathered the ones closest to shore
tied strings about their tiny bodies
and as though they were hanged men
I sacrificed them to the trees

One summer, I overheard
that Sadie’s baby drowned in the river
while she fucked a married man
on the river’s bank. I imagined
the baby’s tiny body: arms flapping
like firefly wings as he gulped
water into his mouth; his immature lungs
expanding as he cried a silent alarm
and his too-large blue eyes staring blankly
into the world of trout and bass below
Alms to Nature